Sunday, February 14, 2010

Cold Sliced Imagery

Away from your home life tangential to your soft skin
you are a voice heard above the sounds of the wounded

forget life's cold sliced imagery
forget the prevailing breeze
unless it pushes your smell out from under my fingernails

past the grayness of Cleveland to the horizons of Chile
or Poland or some other land estranged by purse and case load

you asking for little more than what you deserve
from a common man
a stranger with passports to travel

in between days, you
a compromising patron holding minks untethered

knowing that if my singing gets too loud
to grab shelved rings of gold and empty glasses
always welcomed to join in.

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